


It's Not Too Late To Walk In My Direction

by brickroad16



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Female Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Romance, Senses, a bit angsty, more angsty than i meant it to get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:09:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3991162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brickroad16/pseuds/brickroad16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extreme grief manifests through the loss of a sense. After losing her best friend, Clarke loses her sense of taste. Then Lexa walks into her life, and she finds something much more valuable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Too Late To Walk In My Direction

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Thriving Ivory's "Love Alone"

Clarke sighs and sinks into a plastic chair. Group is always the same—the same faces, the same stories, the same white walls of the basement of the same nondenominational church. She listens rather than participates, but after Wells’s death—her breath catches in her throat, and she has to remind herself how to breathe—after Wells’s death, she’d lost her sense of taste, and the only thing that could get her mom to stop worrying even for a minute was to agree to come to group.

So here she is, like every Tuesday night for the past seven months.

She’s not even sure it helps. The pain sometimes slides beneath the surface, but it never goes away, especially not when each bite of food reminds her of what she’s lost.

She’s tired of losing.

Her attention is caught by a woman walking in. She looks a bit lost, like everyone does on their first night. The circle of plastic chairs can be weirdly intimidating.

Clarke slides up in her seat. That’s new. _She_ ’s new.

“Welcome,” Kane says, waving a hand toward the circle. “Come on in.”

The new girl nods and takes a seat five chairs to Clarke’s left.

“We’re here because we’re some of the few whose grief manifests physically,” Kane says. “But that doesn’t change who we are. Say it with me, people.”

“Losing a sense does not make me less than human,” the circle choruses.

Kane smiles. “That’s right. We all have strength inside. It’s our job to harness that strength and overcome the difficulties life has thrown at us.”

His voice fades into the background as Clarke studies the new girl. She’s rail-thin, but toned biceps are visible through her gray t-shirt. Her curly brown hair is held back in a handful of braids. Even with her perpetually serious expression, she’s stunning. Clarke hasn’t felt this stirring in her chest since her undergrad days with Finn.

New Girl is also quiet. She spends the entire hour-long meeting without saying a word. Kane doesn’t call her out on it. Newcomers startle easily, and he prefers to ease them into the experience. Clarke is usually polite enough to listen to everyone else’s stories, but tonight, she’s mesmerized.

And . . . gets caught staring. Clarke rockets upward in her seat, tears her gaze away. But when she sneaks a glance back, New Girl is still looking. Even from five seats away, her eyes are arresting. They’re pale green and flecked with gold.

New Girl looks away, focuses once more on a guy named Jasper, who had lost his eyesight when his girlfriend, Maya, was killed.

Clarke feels emptier somehow without those eyes on her. She settles back into the chair, resumes her staring. She wonders what New Girl’s affliction is.

* * *

The next week, Clarke sidles up to New Girl at the refreshment table, Styrofoam cup of terrible coffee in her hand, and introduces herself.

“Lexa,” New Girl says, her voice quiet but sure.

“Lexa.” Clarke likes the feel of it on her tongue.

“Well, Clarke, it’s nice to match a name to the girl who stared at me all through last week’s meeting,” Lexa says. The words are humorless, but the corner of her mouth twitches.

Clarke shrugs. “What, you mean the most beautiful woman in the room isn’t used to attracting attention?”

A blush rises to Lexa’s cheeks. She clears her throat and drops a bag of tea into her cup of hot water.

Clarke leans in, swipes a cookie from the table, and says, “Want to get out of here?”

They go to a coffee shop down the street called Polis. It’s homey, with small wooden tables and chairs and a collection of paperbacks on a shelf along one wall. Clarke pays for Lexa’s drink and, as she’s handing over a ten, reminds herself this isn’t a date. This is just new friends getting to know each other.

They settle into a table in the corner. It’s late spring, a warm day, but Lexa wraps her hands around her mug and huddles her shoulders. Maybe she’s nervous. She’s certainly introverted.

Good thing Clarke’s used to taking the lead. “Wells, my best friend, died in a convenience-store robbery. I wasn’t feeling well, so he stopped on his way to my apartment for aspirin and some comfort food. But he was a hero, not someone who could stand by and let a crime happen. I can’t blame him for it because that’s just who he was, an idealist to the core.” She pauses, fights off the familiar sting in her heart. “But there’s not a day goes by that I don’t wish he would have been just a little bit of a coward, just for my sake.” She takes a deep breath to steady her voice. “I’ve been in group for seven months, mostly because it makes my mom feel better. Oh, and I’m in group because I lost my sense of taste.”

Lexa’s eyes go wide. They really are beautiful, like she can see the forest in them.

“Figured we’d get the heavy stuff out of the way,” Clarke explains with a smile.

“Okay.” The twist of Lexa’s lips might be a smile, too, but it’s hard to tell. She gestures to Clarke’s mug. “So if you can’t taste anything, why the coffee?”

“Still gotta live, you know?”

“How does that work? The no-taste thing?”

Clarke shrugs. “Like you’d expect, I think. Everything I eat is like ash, sort of.”

“Even if you eat something really strong?” The brunette’s tone is curious. She must really be new to this stuff.

“Like hot peppers? Nope, not even that.” Clarke tilts her head. “Why? Are there exceptions to your . . . thing?”

“No,” Lexa says. “I just thought . . .”

“If one person had an exception, you might, too.”

Lexa nods, gaze focused on her tea. She gets lost for a moment, it seems, and Clarke lets her. Lost people don’t always need you to find them. They just need you to be there when they get back.

And Lexa does come back. She shakes her head a bit and brings the mug up to her lips. The tea has stopped steaming, but she blows on it again, sets it down without sipping.

The fingers wrapped around that mug are long and lean. Clarke would like to draw those fingers. Clarke would like to draw all of Lexa, actually, only that’s not something she normally brings up within twenty minutes of meeting a girl.

Lexa, finally noticing the silence, looks up. “Oh. Is it my turn?”

“Only if you want it to be. We can talk about something else, anything else. I want to get to know you.” She places a hand over Lexa’s.

Lexa’s arm jerks, and she pulls it away. Something flashes across her face. It’s gone as quickly as it came, baffling Clarke.

“Sorry,” Lexa murmurs.

Clarke tries for a reassuring smile. “Don’t be. I’m a touchy person. Not everyone is. I have to respect that.” She sips her coffee.

“It’s not that I’m not,” Lexa stammers. “It’s just . . .”

Clarke’s heart wants to burst right out of her chest. She wants to wrap Lexa up and make her feel safe, feel loved. That’s ridiculous, though. They’ve known each other for half an hour, really. Besides, Lexa isn’t a hugger, apparently.

Lexa lifts her gaze to meet Clarke’s. “When my grief manifested, I lost the sense of touch.”

Oh. Clarke can live without tasting food, but not without being able to feel the warm embrace of her mother or a comforting squeeze of the hand from Octavia or a playful punch in the shoulder from Raven. Touching isn’t everything in a relationship, but life would seem so empty without it. No wonder Lexa’s not a toucher.

No wonder she’s afraid to sip that tea, too. She won’t be able to feel it if it burns.

“Here, let me,” Clarke says, coaxing the mug from Lexa’s hands. It’s Earl Grey, no milk or sugar. She sets in down again. “It’s perfect—not too hot, not lukewarm yet.”

Lexa stares.

“What?” Clarke asks, half-chuckling.

“Nothing. Thank you,” Lexa says. Then adds, “Not many people know about my . . . affliction. The people who do—outside of my family, of course—don’t understand why a little burn would matter when I can’t even feel it.”

“What kind of doctor would I be if I let my friends accidentally burn themselves?”

“You’re a doctor?”

“Well, a resident still, but on my way. What about you?”

“I’m a professional softball coach.”

“Interesting. I’ve never met one of those before. Which team?”

“The Grounders. Best team in the league.”

They talk for hours, long past the time when group ends, about everything from books to traveling to philosophy to superpowers. Clarke can’t get enough of Lexa—of her face, of her voice, of the stilted way her hands move when she talks like she’s trying to keep everything in. It’s not until Lexa gets a text from her sister wondering about her whereabouts that they’re forced to cut the evening short, and it’s with surprise that Clarke notes darkness has already fallen.

They part on the sidewalk with tentative smiles, but the damage is done. Clarke feels like she’s known Lexa for an eternity, like her soul recognizes the other woman and has finally been recognized in return. And Clarke, who has been so adept at losing, has finally found.

* * *

Lexa’s bone structure is close to perfection, an artist’s dream. From the stands of the softball field, Clarke has a good view of the brunette, who stands at the edge of the Grounders’ dugout, hands on her hips. Unable to pass up the opportunity, Clarke opens her sketchpad.

Beside her, Raven snorts, and from Raven’s other side, Bellamy rolls his eyes. They’re here for Octavia, actually, the rookie centerfielder for the Grounders. Given that one of her two ( _three_ , her heart whispers in grief) best friends plays for Lexa’s team, it’s odd that Clarke had never crossed paths with her until a few weeks ago. But it gives her hope that even if Lexa hadn’t come to group that night, they would have met anyway. Somehow. Like they’re destined.

That’s absurd, though, a bit too fanciful for a doctor to believe. Luckily, she’s an artist, too.

Losing her sense of touch had forced Lexa to retire from playing two years ago. She’s head coach now, the youngest head coach the league has ever seen and, according to Octavia, the best and toughest one she’s ever played for. Instead of ‘Coach,’ they call her ‘Commander.’ A sign of respect, Octavia says. Octavia’s enamored with her.

Clarke smiles to herself as she sketches. Curly hair pulled back beneath a team cap. Shoulder blades visible through the thin fabric of her jersey. And that ass in those pants. Clarke could get used to those pants.

Bellamy smacks her in the shoulder.

“Ow! What?” Clarke turns to glare at him.

“O’s up. Pay attention.”

“You could have just told me that,” she says, but Bellamy and Raven just laugh. Raven doesn’t seem to mind that Bellamy hasn’t removed his arm from the back of her seat.

“What’s up with you guys, anyway?” Raven asks, popping a fry into her mouth. “Are you gonna bang already, or what?”

Clarke’s pencil slips. Damn. Luckily, Octavia saves her by smacking a line drive into left field, and Clarke’s awkwardness is covered with clapping and shouting from all three of them.

The Grounders win 4-2, and the entire team goes to a bar called The Ark to celebrate. It’s a weird sort of concept bar that features a lot of metal furniture and pictures of space, but it’s expansive enough for the whole team and their friends. They meet Lexa’s older sister, Anya, whom Clarke recognizes as the Grounders’ catcher, and her older brother, Lincoln, the third baseman for the Reapers. Seriously, everyone in that family is more at home on a diamond than anywhere else. Lincoln is tall and muscled and beautiful, and Octavia wastes no time in catching his eye and coaxing him onto the dance floor.

Anya, on the other hand, is . . . a bit prickly. Not as closed-off as her little sister, but just as candid with none of Lexa’s softness to take the edge off. As they stand shoulder-to-shoulder waiting for the bartender to make his way toward them, Anya says, “So, what’s your game, Princess?”

_Princess_? If this woman weren’t related to Lexa, she’d be getting an earful of Clarke snark right now. “I don’t have a game,” she says.

Anya shrugs. “Everyone has a game even if they don’t know it.”

Clarke turns to look Anya full in the eyes. “Then maybe mine is just to be happy, and Lexa makes me happy.”

Does she make Lexa happy, too?

“Do you know she can’t feel anything? Ironic, really, when you think about it, but it tends to send people running, and after everything she’s been through, she deserves someone who stays.”

Clarke doesn’t know the particulars yet, but they’ve both been through a lot—too much, really, for their short years.

“Yeah, I do know,” Clarke says forcefully. “She told me the first day I met her.” A stretch of the truth, but it _was_ the first day they’d spoken. “And I don’t intend on going anywhere.”

“Hmm,” is all Anya says.

The bartender finally gets to them, and Anya orders two beers. Clarke orders one.

Anya leans in. “Love is weakness.”

Clarke narrows her eyes.

“At least that’s what Lexa thinks.” Anya scrutinizes her for a long moment. Then: “Maybe you’ll finally be the one to prove her wrong.”

Clarke opens her mouth to reply when the drinks arrive.

Anya slides a glass of amber beer toward her. “Here. Lexa’s favorite.” Then she jerks her chin toward the corner table Lexa’s sitting at alone and walks away before Clarke can thank her.

A drink in each hand, Clarke shakes off the conversation and slides into the booth beside Lexa, sitting close enough for their arms and thighs to press together. Maybe Lexa can’t feel it, but Clarke can, and she can take comfort from the contact.

“Hey,” she says, voice soft but not shy.

Lexa swallows before curling a hand around the glass Clarke pushes toward her. “Hi.” She takes a sip. “This is my favorite. How’d you know?”

“Anya told me.”

A lift of the eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. I think she’s warming up to me.”

Lexa laughs, an honest-to-earth laugh that Clarke already knows is rare. And all the more beautiful for its rarity.

They sit like that for a while, comfortably quiet, watching the team talk and laugh and dance. It must have been hard for her, going from player to coach all because of something beyond her control. Clarke became a doctor to help people, but Lexa’s pain, intangible and insidious, isn’t a broken arm or a simple cough. She aches to wash it away, to whisper magic words and make it disappear.

Tracing lines into the perspiration on her glass, Lexa says, “Her name was Costia.”

_Costia_. Clarke repeats the name in her head, commits it to memory. She wants to commit every part of Lexa to memory, even the raw, excruciating ones, the ones Lexa would rather hide.

Lexa’s brow furrows. Her voice is less than sure when she continues, “We were engaged. She . . . We had a future together, all planned out. Everything’s different now, and sometimes I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Clarke runs a hand through her hair. She knows what it’s like now to see people you care about in pain, knows what her mother and her friends have gone through these past seven months.

“It’s been two years,” Lexa says, “and I still . . . I still love her. And it still hurts.”

Clarke worms an arm around Lexa’s waist. “Oh, Lexa. I’m so sorry.”

Lexa twists her lips. She leans into Clarke, just a little, just enough for Clarke to get the message. For Lexa, Clarke is safe harbor.

Clarke tucks a stray curl of Lexa’s behind her ear. “Will you tell me about her?”

* * *

When the Fourth of July rolls around, the team gets a week off, and Lexa’s mom invites them all to her house for a barbecue. Clarke and Lexa are still in that weird stage they’ve always been in—between friends and more than friends—but Clarke won’t push. It’s enough to spend time with her, enough to wake up to texts from her and to fall asleep reading a novel she’d recommended.

Lincoln is as sweet as ever, and Octavia pulls him away almost as soon as she, Clarke, Raven, and Bellamy arrive. Anya offers Clarke a nod that would be considered rude coming from anyone else but from Anya is actually quite friendly. Indra, their mom, is an imposing woman, but after a few moments, after finding out that Clarke is Lexa’s Clarke (Lincoln says it with a grin), she warms. Lexa explains that their mom was a pitcher for the gold-medal-winning Olympic softball team, and it becomes clear how much the three siblings look up to Indra.

Wanting to win her over, too, Clarke offers to help with the food. She even bites her tongue when Indra gives her an apron emblazoned with the word _Princess_ , a crown over the _I_. Seriously? Then she catches Anya’s eye from across the patio. The older woman winks. Of course. Who else?

Clarke only burns one burger, so she thinks she’s earned Indra’s seal of approval. Maybe. It’s hard to tell with a woman so inscrutable. Indra loves Octavia, though. And it’s nice to see Bellamy and Raven playing poker with two of Octavia’s fellow outfielders. By the looks of it, Raven’s wiping the floor with everyone and having a grand time doing it.

At Indra’s behest, Clarke ducks inside to get another case of beer from the fridge. She turns around, beer heavy in her arms, to find Anya leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. “Um, hi? Your mom asked me to get this.”

Anya nods dismissively. She doesn’t care about the beer. Only she isn’t telling Clarke what she does care about, so the conversation, if she could call it that, comes to a standstill.

“Um, Anya? Kinda heavy.”

Anya takes the case from her arms and sets it on the kitchen table. She faces Clarke with a hand on her hip. “What’s going on with you and my sister?”

Clarke frowns. This isn’t a conversation she has any desire to take part it. They don’t need to define it, certainly not to anyone but themselves. And she doesn’t _want_ to. She wants to share a beer with Lexa and talk about nothing. “We’re friends. Good friends.” Under Anya’s gaze, she clarifies, “I like her a lot, okay? What’s with the third-degree, Anya? You know me well enough by now to know that hurting Lexa is the last thing I would do.”

Anya studies her for a few seconds before saying, “She hasn’t told you, then.”

“Told me what?”

“She can feel your touch.”

* * *

Night falls amid laughter and music. When Clarke realizes hasn’t seen Lexa in a little while, she sets off in search and finds her at the edge of the yard, sitting in the grass with her legs curled and looking up at the stars.

“Hey,” she says softly as she drops down beside Lexa.

“Hey.” Lexa smiles, one of those slight smiles that anyone else would assume was fake.

Clarke knows better. She knows Lexa. Or at least she thought she did. If Lexa can feel her touch—and only her touch—then why not just say so?

As that’s not the best conversation-starter, she asks, “You’re not one for big social events, are you?”

Lexa turns her gaze back to the sky. “It’s good for a coach not to be too familiar with her players.”

She was their peer only a couple years ago, but Clarke lets that slide. “You realize this is your mom’s house, right?”

Lexa laughs.

Clarke’s heart skips at the sound. She’s been dodging Raven’s questions and Bellamy’s teasing and Octavia’s attempts to push them together, all the while telling herself _just friends_ was exactly what she wanted.

The world had shifted with Anya’s admission, though. Clarke’s no longer content to run in place. She wants to slide her fingers up Lexa’s arm and watch the shiver run through her. She wants to brush their lips together and hear the hitched intake of breath. She wants to scrape her teeth over Lexa’s neck and feel the curl of Lexa’s fingers into her hips. She wants to taste chocolate and wine and hope and love on Lexa’s tongue.

_Just friends_ doesn’t seem good enough anymore.

To distract herself, she lies down on her back and puts an arm under her head. “You ever wonder what it’d be like to live in space?”

Lexa joins her in the grass, their bodies close enough to share heat in the cooling night, but not touching. “Not really,” she chuckles, “but I suppose it’d be much like here. Humankind is the same no matter the setting.” She licks her lips. “Do you ever think about what a crapshoot it is that we meet anyone in this life at all?”

“What do you mean?”

“There are seven billion people on this planet. Think of how many people we pass on the street every day and never meet. Think of how many people never come into our lives at all. What if the one person you’re _supposed_ to meet is one of the almost-seven billion you _don’t_? Or what if you’d done one thing differently and it set you off on a path where you didn’t meet that person?”

_And what if the one you wanted was taken away too soon?_

“The world is so vast,” Lexa breathes, “and we’re so small.”

Clarke slips her hand into Lexa’s, intertwining their fingers.

Lexa’s gasp is soft, almost imperceptible.

“Not small to each other, though,” Clarke says. Slowly, she continues, “I think, no matter what, I would have met you. Somehow. Somewhere.”

She turns her head in time to see a smile spread over Lexa’s face. _Destined_ is a big word, but it’s the only one that feels right.

“Do you remember what you asked me that first day?” she asks. That day was months ago now, but it remains fresh in Clarke’s mind. Days that change your life always do.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what you asked me? About there being exceptions to our afflictions?”

A pause. Then: “Yes.”

Clarke rubs her thumb over the back of Lexa’s hand. “Can you feel me?”

A lifetime passes in the space of a heartbeat. It’s more than enough time for Clarke’s throat to close up, for her heart to contract like a fist is wrapped around it and squeezing with all it’s got.

Finally, Lexa whispers, “No.”

Clarke lets go of her hand.

* * *

For the first time, Clarke speaks up at group without Kane asking.

“I’ve heard,” she begins, unsure she really wants to do this until Lexa’s gaze snaps to her. Yeah. Yeah, she’s got to do this. “I’ve heard that some people regain the sense they’ve lost. Like, when you meet your soul mate, they bring back the missing part of you. Is that true?”

Kane smiles. “I’ve heard the stories, too. But that’s all they are. Just stories. They’re probably meant to give hope, but sometimes false hope can be worse than none.”

Lexa crosses her arms and looks down.

“Maybe,” Kane says, “it’s not about regaining that sense. Maybe it’s about choosing to value that person you love over your lost sense.”

“Hmm.” Clarke nods like she’s internalizing that, but she doesn’t believe it. She can’t.

“Any thoughts from the group?”

When group ends, Lexa leaves without so much as a _goodbye_.

* * *

“She’s lying to me.”

It comes out as a whine, but Clarke can’t find the energy to care. She’s lying on the couch with her head in Octavia’s lap, while Octavia runs her fingers through her hair.

Raven sends her a pitying look from the armchair. “In my experience, people only lie for two reasons: because they’re bastards or because they’re scared. And since Lexa definitely isn’t the first . . .” She trails off with a shrug.

“Go talk to her,” Octavia says. “Seriously, have you never watched a rom-com? Good communication solves _everything_.”

“Gee,” Clarke says, more harshly than she means to, “maybe I would if she would pick up the damn phone.”

Or answer her texts. Or show up to group. Or do anything to prove that she cares for Clarke just a little bit.

As soon as she thinks it, she takes it back. It’s spiteful, coming from a place of hurt. Lexa does care. She’s seen it in the thoughtfulness of Lexa's text replies, in the way she wants Clarke to have a good relationship with her family, in the way she opens up around Clarke and almost no one else.

So maybe the problem is that Lexa cares too much.

* * *

When Clarke makes her weekly visit to the graveyard, she visits Wells and Finn and her father, like always. But, armed with information from Lincoln, she seeks out Costia, too. The rain comes harder as she traipses across the grasp. Tightening her grip on the umbrella, she crouches to better see the gravestone. Beneath Costia’s name and the dates, it reads:

_Beloved Daughter, Friend, Fiancée_

_May We Meet Again_

She traces the letters, her heart sinking. She’d lost three of the most important people in her life, and yet none of those losses had driven her to cut herself off, to stop anything that resembled a feeling. How much pain must Lexa be in to be so afraid of moving on? How can Clarke help if Lexa won’t even talk to her?

Lexa did talk to her, though. She opened up about Costia, and Clarke suspects she hasn’t done that with anyone outside of her family.

Rustling behind her drags her out of her thoughts, and she stands.

“What are you doing here?”

It’s Lexa, holding a black umbrella and wearing a confused, hurt expression.

“I just wanted to pay my respect,” Clarke says. “I know how much she means to you.”

Lexa nods, gaze focused on the grass. After a moment, she says, “Thank you.”

Life is short, and she’s lost so many people already. She won’t lose Lexa, too.

“Lexa . . .”

Now isn’t the right time to say it. Definitely not the right place. So, the words stuck on her tongue, Clarke reaches out a hand.

Lexa stares at it for a moment before turning and walking away.

Clarke wipes the rain from her face.

She’s lost her best friend, her first love, her father. Maybe she’s lost Lexa now, too.

She’s tired of losing.

Standing in the rain, watching Lexa retreat, Clarke decides it’s time to win again.

* * *

Two days later, the doorbell rings at half past eight in the morning. Raven’s already at work, and Octavia’s still sleeping, so Clarke answers in boxer shorts and an oversized t-shirt.

“Lexa,” she breathes at the sight of the other woman in the hallway.

“Hi,” says Lexa. She hesitates for a heartbeat before plunging in. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. What Anya told you was true, and it scared me. _You_ scared me.”

That's the last thing Clarke wanted. She's supposed to be Lexa’s safe harbor, not the storm in the sea that threatened to break her. “Why?”

Lexa frowns. “I could ignore it for a while. I even convinced myself that being able to feel you was just a coincidence. But then I started to think that you wanted more than to be friends, and that’s what everyone else said, too, and wanting that too—acknowledging your touch—felt like a betrayal somehow.”

Clarke steps forward. “Lexa, I don’t want you to forget Costia. _I_ want to know her because she’s part of you. And I want you to know Finn and Wells and my dad and everyone else important in my life. I’ve always thought of my affliction as a way for the universe to remind me of the missing parts of myself. So I thought being the exception to your affliction was the same—a giant wake-up call to pay attention to the girl who could fill in those spaces.” She swallows hard. “Lexa, I do want more, but if you tell me to back off, I’ll back off. We can be friends. We can be whatever you want us to be.”

She’d wait—she would—if Lexa asked her to.

Lexa worries her bottom lip. “I haven’t felt anyone’s touch in two years. I’ve just been surviving.”

“Maybe life should be about more than just surviving. Don’t we deserve better than that?”

Lexa meets her gaze. “Maybe we do,” she says, and it gives Clarke strength.

She slides her arms around Lexa and wraps her into a warm embrace. “Can you feel this?”

Lexa nods into her shoulder.

She pulls away to rest her forehead against Lexa’s. “And this?”

“Yes,” murmurs Lexa.

Clarke takes a deep breath and cups Lexa’s cheek. Her pale green eyes are just as mesmerizing as they were that first night. She nods.

Clarke touches her lips to Lexa’s.

The kiss is gentle, all closed lips and kindling hope.

“And that?” Clarke breathes.

Lexa swallows hard, licks her lips, nods. “Yeah,” she says, “I can feel that,” before brushing her nose over Clarke’s and kissing her again.

Clarke smiles into the kiss. Lexa tastes like cinnamon and courage.


End file.
